


It's Only a Line

by GrandHighPriestess



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Domestic, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:17:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22270123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrandHighPriestess/pseuds/GrandHighPriestess
Summary: Frank, for the life of him, cannot write this damn guitar part
Relationships: Frank Iero/Ray Toro
Comments: 3
Kudos: 46





	It's Only a Line

Frank huffed and reset his hand along the neck of his guitar. This fucking song was giving him more trouble than he'd like to admit. Taking another breath in an attempt to calm down some, he tries the riff again. Good, good, no.

"Fuck," he says, glaring down at his hands. Why can't he make them do what he wants? Ray showed him the sample line he'd been working on for this concept he and Gerard cooked up at 4 am the day prior and Frank had been trying to get a semblance of his line written down for nearly 24 hours. He hadn't moved much from the stool he sat down on yesterday, or was it earlier today? He just wanted this part written. He thought it was going to be easier than this. As he grumbles and chugs out what little he's written again, Ray walks in. He's too focused to wonder how Ray ended up in his basement, he doesn't remember letting him in. Frank flubs the transition, for the 12th time, and has to bite down on his lip to keep from screaming.

"Hey, that's soundin' good so far," Ray says. He walks up behind Frank. Frank can feel the heat of him through his shirt and his mind slowly starts registering how sore and tired his body is.

"It sounds like shit, I can't get it to work," Frank says. He suddenly, desperately, wants to lean back against Ray and have him just write the part for him, he doesn't though. Instead he hunches further over his guitar and forces his stupid fingers to play the stupid part that he can't fucking write.

He messes up after just a few notes.

"Fuck! Are you shitting me? Goddamn, fucking…" Ray wraps a hand around Frank's arm, startling him out of his rage.

"Why don't we go take a break, yeah?"

"No, I gotta finish this. I can't take a break. I'm just gonna lose what little progress I've made." Frank is shaking, everything he needs to get this part written out is right in front of him and he's too useless to put it together.

"When was the last time you got water? Or food?" Ray says, gently pulling his arm. Frank shrugs and scrapes a sore hand through his hair. Fuck he needs a shower, he thinks. He genuinely can't remember when he last ate, and it's been at least a few hours since he had anything to drink. But that doesn't matter, they have time scheduled in the studio tomorrow and if he doesn't have a part ready he'll be wasting everyone's time.

"Frank, let go." Ray tugs his arm again. Frank looks down, noticing his hand is clenched around the neck of his guitar.

"No, I gotta finish this. We have the studio tomorrow, what am I supposed to do if I can't get this written?" Oh god, the guys are gonna be so pissed at him, they might kick him out. What is he going to do if that happens? He can't not be in a band, especially this one.

"Dude, what time do you think it is right now?"

"I don't know," Frank squints at the papers sprawled on the table in front of him, "like 9? 10 maybe?"

"It's almost 3am. You've been cooped up down here for like 30 hours." Ray's hand is still on his arm and Frank, whether he wants to admit it or not, is slowly leaning more and more into the touch.

"30 hours and I've managed to come up with jack fucking shit. You should just face it, I'm no good, I can't do anything. I'm gonna ruin this band." Frank jerks out of Ray's hold. Why was he just sitting here? He needs to get this done.

"Okay, come on. I'm vetoing whatever you think you're doing right now." Ray pulls the guitar from Frank's lap, somehow having undone the strap without Frank noticing.

"Wha… wait no, Ray! Give it back. I'm fine, just let me finish this." Frank thrashes and nearly falls off the stool as he tries to grab the guitar back from Ray.

"No, you're going to be a mess in the morning, it's not that big a deal," Rays says. He sets the guitar up against a wall.

"No I won't, I'll be fine, I've done this before. Just let me finish it."

"Frank. No. I know you've stayed up 48 or more hours before to write your parts but you were not fine. You were a wreck." Ray crosses his arms and gives him a look that would normally make him drop his head and go somewhere calmer in his being. But it doesn't this time, Frank just clenches his fists and swallows the mass in his throat.

"Please, I need to. I'm not going to be able to function if I can't finish it." His voice is small and tight, like he's speaking with his throat closed. 

Ray doesn't say anything, just walks back over to him. He stands directly in front of where Frank is sitting, wedging himself between Frank's legs. He still has that look on his face as he works a hand into Frank's hair.

Frank's mind is running a million miles an hour. He can't distinguish one thought from the next, it's all just a constant, jittery thrumming in his chest and between his ears. Ray's hand tightens. Frank goes limp, slumping forward into Ray's chest, his head goes silent.

"Good boy," he hears Ray whisper. Frank makes a small keening noise at the comment. Ray's hand loosens and he pets through his hair a few times. The thrumming tension starts building again and thoughts of how he's failing both himself and the guys become loud. Then Ray tightens his hand again and the tension drains. Frank whimpers, his mind and body stilling. Ray cycles through tightening and loosening his hand a few more times until Frank's breathing is slow and even and the lightheadedness he feels isn't from tension.

"Okay, let's go upstairs. You are going to take a shower and I am going to get you a snack. Then you are going to bed. Understand?" Ray's voice is quiet but commanding, leaving no room for Frank to protest, which is fine because Frank is finding it hard to speak. He nods against Ray's chest where his forehead is still resting. The song is still pestering him, like a petulant 4 year old, but Ray is there giving him all his attention. Ray steps back, leaving Frank to sway forward as his contact point vanishes. As he stands his joints protest loudly and he hisses because, damn, everything hurts. Ray pulls him upstairs and deposits him at the bathroom.

Twenty minutes go by and the most Frank has been able to do is stare at the tub drain, watching how the water swirls around before disappearing. The water bouncing off his skin has probably accomplished more today than he has. Frank's chest and throat tighten. He sucks in a shaky breath and finally reaches for a bottle of soap. The backs of his eyes start to burn and his vision blurs. He whines and slams the shampoo bottle back onto the side of the tub, where it falls off and startles him. It takes him almost twenty more minutes to finally exit the shower.

He enters the kitchen in just his boxers and a large hoodie. Ray is making something that smells surprisingly appetizing. Frank shuffles up to him. When the elder doesn't turn around, Frank lightly taps his side. He has his arms held tightly to his body. Ray looks down at him, asking how his shower was, and Frank loses it. He literally has one job and he can't even do that. He's a fucking joke.

Frank completely expects Ray to laugh at him or just walk away from him as he stands in his kitchen at 4 am sobbing like a damn baby. What he doesn't expect is for the man to pull him to his side and place a lingering kiss to his forehead. Frank glances up at him, eyes wide and ringed with tears.

"It's alright Frankie, you did so good. It's okay," Ray says. It just makes him cry harder. Because no, he didn't do anything good. He barely _did_ _anything_. He burrows deeper into Ray’s side. “This is ready, let’s go to your room, ‘kay?”

Frank steps back, trying to stifle the shiver that crawls up his spine when he loses Ray’s body heat. Then it hits him again. Ray is probably only here because he knows Frank was unable to write that damn part. He’s here to butter him up so the guys can drop him tomorrow. It’s not unfair, he trashes equipment, hurts the guys, tackles them, and he can’t even write a simple guitar part. He stops in the doorway of his room, cautiously watching as Ray sets the bowl down on his bed. Ray looks up at him in confusion when he notices.

“You’re here to tell me I’m out, aren’t you?”

“I’m, what? No, Frank, no that’s not why I’m here. You aren’t being kicked.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’m not helping you guys. I destroy stuff and I’ve hurt you, and I can’t even write my parts anymore.” Frank crosses his arms over his chest, saying it out loud carved it deeper into his chest. The back of his throat starts burning again. Ray walks over and pulls Frank into his chest, placing one hand firmly on the back of his head.

"Frank, babe, no. I'm here because you stopped answering your phone and I was worried about you."

Frank doesn't say anything, can't say anything really. Not with Ray's hand firm on his back and his other slowly massaging his scalp. He closes his eyes and melts into Ray's hold. Ray hits a sweet spot just behind Frank's ear. Frank whimpers quietly into the older's chest, pressing into the touch.

"Listen," he plants another kiss to Frank's forehead, "you are tired and stressed and probably starving. I'm gonna have you eat and then you are sleeping. You are sleeping until studio time because I don't know the last time you slept more than 3 hours."

Ray tightens his hand in Frank's hair again, tighter than he had downstairs. Frank makes a small keening noise and nods, trying to let Ray know he heard and planned on participating. Ray's hold tightens to an almost painful level for a few seconds before he lets go. Frank follows him to his bed. He allows Ray to mother-hen him until he's satisfied with the amount he's eaten and drank. Frank doesn't remember seeing Ray grab water at any point but he's too tired to care. It's weird, cuddling with Ray outside of touring, but Frank just presses closer and tries to settle his mind. He can still hear that part circling around in his head, taunting him, but Ray is wrapped around him protectively. The hand on his head tightens again and this time it maneuvers him closer as Ray rolls onto his back, pulling Frank on top of him and holding him tightly. The sound of Ray's breathing and heartbeat weave their way into his head and finally chase out that stupid guitar line as he falls asleep.


End file.
